


I've Had My Run (Baby I'm Done)

by dwynwen



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dumb Hockey Boys, Friends to Roommates to Idiots in Love, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26403538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwynwen/pseuds/dwynwen
Summary: “It felt like we were jumping the gun and I just...I didn’t think we were ready for that.”Derek picks at the edge of his beer’s label like he’s processing what to say next and how much of a dick he’s allowed to be. Then he asks gently, “Did you think you were ever going to be ready?”-or-Dex goes house-hunting. Nursey helps.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you think Will?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. But Hannah has to ask it so they can start the paperwork. Will palms the beer in his hand, more to ground himself in the moment than anything before replying,

“I think I should start looking at apartments.”

Hannah laughs, delighted, and promises to get him the contract by tomorrow morning. He, in turn, promises to sign it before Monday and they hang up shortly afterwards. 

Will stares at his phone for and spends the next 10 minutes trying to think of what to write, and the following 10 minutes after _that_ berating himself for overthinking things. The following morning, he decides he’s an idiot and presses _SEND_ before he loses his nerve.

_Does that offer to crash at your place still stand?_

He’d like to say he wasn’t expecting a quick reply; Derek’s a busy guy after all. But the blinking dots light up almost immediately after he sends the text out, and Will realizes he’s been holding his breath.

The dots disappear as his screen alerts him that he’s getting a Facetime call instead and, really, Will should’ve seen this coming. He accepts the call and then Derek Nurse’s pixelated face is shouting at him. 

“DEXY!” 

Will smothers the smile he knows is growing on his face anyway. As the screen adjusts to his internet connection, he takes in the low lighting in the screen and the duvet that Derek’s had since college, pulled up to his chin. He smirks. 

“Good morning to you too Nursey.” 

Of course, it’s 2PM so Derek ignores the sarcasm and demands, “My man! When are you coming up? Because there’s this art show coming up that my editor told me about and I need to take you with me.”

Will snorts because Derek regularly snapchats all his “cultural” escapades and, “You know I hate that hipster bullshit.”

“You’re going to hate it _so_ much.” Derek assures him with a laugh. Will watches him smile and roll over, his blanket falling and a spray of light dancing across his bare chest and Will wishes the image of one (1) sleep-rumpled, hair mussed Derek M. Nurse came with an advisory. Beware: visuals may resurrect shit that you’re still wholly incapable of dealing with. 

“-such a hater, it’s gonna be great!” Derek is saying, rubbing sleep out of his eyes that most certainly _doesn’t_ do anything to Will’s chest. 

He finds his voice before the lapse in conversation stretches too long, “So you’re cool if I hang out with you for a bit in New York?”

“Ch _yeah_! You don’t even have to ask Pointdexter. Mi casa es su casa and all that fun shit.”

“Thanks man. I really appreciate it.”

Derek waves him off, his background shifting as he moves around his apartment.

“S’nothing brah. So when are you coming through? You know I’ll be happy to be your chauffeur from the airport.”

“No. I’m, uh, actually driving this time.”

“...Oh. That’s um...chill.”

Derek actually looks more faintly confused than chill, which is understandable; Will’s company always paid for him to fly into New York every time he’d had to travel to work. Will idly taps the side of his phone. “But I should be there in, uh... about two weeks? I’ll let you know the closer we get to the date. I still gotta pack up things here and put a lot of it into storage.”

There’s a pause and Will would’ve figured his screen was frozen on Derek’s face, the personification of a _“Loading”_ page. He seems to snap himself out of it pretty quickly though, spitting down into his sink and ordering,

“Don’t fuck with me Dex.” He’s trying to sound grim but it’s hard to take him seriously when there’s a chunk of bright blue toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying??”

“I interviewed yesterday.”

Nursery narrows his eyes, suspicious but, “Bro-”

“The contract’s sitting in my inbox right now.” Will says. Grinning, he spreads his hands in front of him and announces, “I’m moving to New York, Nurse.” 

And Derek lets off a whoop of such unfiltered joy that Will laughs, watching him. 

“What!! Oh my god, bro. That’s so great. Holy shit, congrats Pointdexter!” Derek is positively elated, his dental hygiene clearly forgotten while he’s trying to plan and formulate. “Okay, okay! Uhh...I’ll have to clear out some of the drawers in the guestroom but you and Sara are def welcome to hang out til you find a place. Oh shit. Have you already looked at places? I’ve got a realtor you can use if you need some help...Will? You there man?”

Will fiddles with the empty mug on his coffee table. Whatever. Might as well bite the bullet.

“It’s, uh. It’s just gonna be me, Nurse.”

A beat passes. Derek stares at him through the phone and Will can pinpoint the second that it clicks. 

“...Sara’s not coming…?”

Will waits for something ugly or bitter or angry to bloom in his chest, utterly unsurprised when it doesn’t.

He shook his head, “Nah.”

Nursey’s brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to do complex math instead reading the metaphorical neon sign.

“...Like, she’s not coming with you in two weeks or-?”

“We broke up three months ago, Nursey.”

Derek’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of their sockets.

“O-oh, damn. I’m...I’m sorry man.”

“Don’t be.” Will means it. “It’s okay.”

Derek blinks rapidly, obviously still trying to compute. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Like his brain is thinking of too many things at once and can’t decide which needs to be said first. 

“Yo, what the fuck bro?” Is what finally comes out before Derek seems to remember that his friend has just ended a serious (kinda) long-term, serious (but not as serious as he’d thought) relationship. He quickly backtracks, “I-I’m sorry man. I’m just...surprised. I know you said you guys were...going through a rough patch at the wedding, but I’m just a little...thrown.”

And whew. _Two_ understatements in one sentence? Derek’s definitely concerned for his mental wellbeing, which is sweet (gag) but Will shrugs because, really, there’s not much to say.

“We just wanted different things.” He says aloud because it’s generic and vague and he knows Derek respects his privacy enough not to push. At least while they’ve still got a couple hundred miles between them.

_X_

“So New York, huh?”

Jason’s tone already makes him want to hang up. Instead, Will tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder to finish taping up a box in his living room. He fights the urge to sigh.

“Yup.” 

Over the line, he hears his brother snort.

“With _Derek_.”

The insinuation isn’t lost on him. 

“Is there a reason you’re calling?” Will demands. “Because you just sound like you’re reading off the last text I sent you.”

“Oh Billy-goat,” Jason all but croons. “Can’t I just call to hear your voice?”

“Sure. This doesn’t sound like one of those calls though.”

“How is Derek these days?” Jason asks suddenly as if he’s actually interested.

(After Samwell, Derek had taken a position as a lowly copy-writer at a well-known publishing house, eschewing his parents’ (and even his grandparents’) offers to network on his behalf for a better position elsewhere. Will had kind of hated it at the time, largely because he knew Derek hated that kind of work, but also because it stirred up a lot of bitter feelings about his friend’s advantages that he stamped out as soon as he realized what he was so pissed about. Part of the reason Derek had gone to Samwell in the first place was to get away from the awful, pretentious crowd that placed value over his parents’ address and status over his actual abilities. 

_I know I can do it on my own._ He had told Will a few days before graduation. _I just need them to see it too._

So he dropped his dad’s last name on applications, took the affirmative action whispers and mild Islamophobia that came with being known as Derek Malik and charmed the ever-loving shit out of everyone he met. In true Nursey fashion, Derek had managed to finesse his way into being an editor in the last five years because he was good at his job, and even better at writing; his own collection had been released the year before to moderate acclaim, cracking the best-selling list. Will had pre-ordered, of course, sending Derek a picture of his copy the moment he picked it up. 

Derek had responded with a flurry of heart-eyes and crying emojis and _Yoooooo Dexadoodle! You DO love me!_

 _I’ve got your back._ Will had messaged back before he left the bookstore at 7am, grinning. _Asshole.)_

Will rolls his eyes, momentarily forgetting that Jason couldn’t see.

“He’s fine Jay.” Will bites out. “But you already know that. Since you’re following him on Facebook.”

“And Instagram, Billy. Don’t forget the ‘gram.”

College, Will thought, had changed his brother. He was still trying to figure out if it was a good thing.

“Then why are you asking me about him?”

“Because you’re about to go live with him.” Jason says. “And the last time you moved in with him, you literally ran out screaming.”

Will huffs, feeling himself flush. “I didn’t scream. And I didn’t run; I walked down two flights of stairs.”

“I’m just saying it didn’t go so well the first time around.”

“We were assholes being assholes to each other.” He says. “We’ve both grown up since. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but, uh. Are you guys gonna be okay this time?”

Jason’s tone had shifted, less teasing and more tentative and it makes Will vaguely uncomfortable. He reaches for his old captaincy plaque, setting it into another box beside a framed photo of SMH during his last year. Chris and Derek stand on either side of him in the shot. Chow has an arm around Will’s shoulder, Nursey has a hand curled around Will’s neck and his smile is so painfully jubilant that Will just stares for a moment. 

“It’ll be fine.” He says. Then tries again when he realizes how unsure he sounds, “We’ll be fine.”

_X_

Two weeks later, Will drives into the unnecessarily swanky garage of Derek’s equally-unnecessarily swanky building, and there, looking like he’d been waiting for Will like he was Christmas morning, was Derek. He’s in sweatpants and a Sharks hoodie that Chris definitely left behind at some point and Will is overwhelmed by the urge to bury himself into the crook of his neck.

Shit. This was such a bad idea.

He’s barely shut the door of his truck before he’s tackled in a hug, too warm and just on this side of suffocating, but he leans into it because, hell, he’s really fucking missed Derek. 

Derek all but nuzzles his face into the scarf Will’s mom knitted two Christmases ago and proclaims, “I’ve fucking missed you Dex.” 

Will rolls his eyes and makes a show of shoving him. He holds onto Derek's forearm though, keeping him from going too far.

“You literally just saw me on Facetime last night.” 

Derek makes a face. “You know damn well that’s not that same thing.”

And he’s not wrong, but Will won’t admit that.

Will only really loaded up on the essentials and, between the two of them and the handcart Derek brought, it only takes one trip to hoist all of his stuff up to Derek’s apartment. Will spent the majority of the drive thinking about that one take-out place that they always order from when he’s in town, so Derek places an order while Will puts aside some of his stuff. The guest room closet actually has a couple of items he’d left the few times he’s come through town, including his old Bruins shirt that looks like it’s been washed. 

When the food comes they settle in the living room on Derek’s insanely-comfortable couch and dig in with ESPN playing in the background. Will starts his new job in a week and he’s pretty excited. The software developing company that he’s signed onto isn’t huge by any means, but the work they’re doing and the contracts they’ve got lined up sound promising and honestly, the vibe of the office and his interview alone were pretty encouraging. 

“‘Vibe?’ Did I just hear you use that word right?? Who are you and what’ve you done to my Dexadoddle??”

Will tosses a packet of szechuan sauce at his face, nonplussed. He’s excited okay? Granted, the commute from Derek’s Manhattan apartment is gonna be a pain, but it’s temporary til Will finds a place a little closer to the Brooklyn office. Derek looks a little confused when Will tells him this.

“I thought you did a phone interview?”

“Yup. But I’ve met Hannah, the recruiter, before. Here, actually.” Will points a finger to the ground, the city. “A couple of years ago.”

“Oh damn.” Derek’s eyes widen in recognition. “That’s right. You did a bunch of interviews at companies here during senior year over, uh, over spring break right?”

It’s only after years of friendship that Will can pick up the change of inflection in Derek’s voice. He chooses to gloss over it because he’s, you know, an idiot. 

“It seemed like a cool place, actually. Though back then it was more of a start-up.” Will adds, “I almost accepted their onboarding offer after we graduated.”

“I remember. But you decided on Boston.”

“It felt like the right choice at the time.”

Derek tilts his head, watching SportsCenter without really paying attention and says,

“Y’know, I always figured you would’ve wound up going back home after we graduated.”

“So did I.” Will admits. “But, after college and just...everything, I couldn’t see myself there anymore.”

There’s a wealth of conversations there, of course. Conversations that Will’s had with Derek and Chris and their upperclassmen about privileges and biases that he’d apparently had but never thought to address until Samwell. Conversations that humbled and confused and angered him about problems that he didn’t realize were problems because they weren't problems for him. At least until he had people who were too stubborn and chill to let him live in his blissful ignorance. There were conversations, too, Derek knows, with Will’s parents and his brother and his extended family that were less productive and more hurtful than Will had anticipated, that made it easier to choose to stay away. Derek knows it still stings.

“You’ve been back though, right? For holidays?”

“Yeah, but,” Will face pinches, “I don’t know man. I didn’t feel like I was supposed to be there anymore, you know? Which I know sounds stupid because it’s been my home for so long, and all my family’s there, and I love being around them for the most part. But the thought of settling down there, even just for work if not forever…” He trails off and shakes his head. “It just didn’t feel like home anymore.”

Derek, who moved back to New York after college but got his own apartment after he started working because the suffocating quiet of his family’s home was too much for him, only nods. Because he gets it; understands the ugly guilt of outgrowing the people and places who’ve loved you into being, but recognizing that you can’t necessarily _keep_ growing when you’re surrounded and smothered with the memories and impressions of who you used to be. 

A beat passes before Derek nudges a foot into Will’s thigh.

“So,” Will actually groans at his tone. Nursey ignores him, “You gonna tell me what happened with your undercover break-up or am I gonna have to be annoying?”

“Pssh. You’re always annoying.”

Derek doesn’t rise to the bait and Will can’t even be disappointed. It was a pretty weak chirp. He sighs, his free hand coming palm-up, helpless.

“I don’t know what you want me to say Nurse. It was good. And then it wasn’t.”

Derek is, naturally, unimpressed. 

“Can you, I don’t know, stop talking like a cryptic middle school status update for a minute? And actually talk to me about this? Because we’ve talked in the last four months. And never _once_ , have you mentioned that your relationship was falling apart.”

And, that’s fair, but it’s not quite right. Because they haven’t just talked; they’ve texted and DM’d off social media, trading barbs and memes at least every other day. Much in the same way they have over the years since graduating. So Will knows that Derek isn’t just being nosy or invasive. The furrow on his forehead is less due to confusion and more...hurt. That Will couldn’t share this with him. But how was he supposed to?

Will sighs, defeated. “I was up for a promotion. Cushy position, less work, pay raise, all that fun shit.”

“You never mentioned it.” It sounds like an accusation and Will thinks he kinda deserves it. 

“Because I didn’t want it.” He defends. “It would’ve been more administrative and I would’ve had to be the guy on everyone’s backs to get their work done, and you know how much I can’t stand that shit.”

Derek just nods, because, for someone who thrives off order, Will hates having his professional competence questioned by someone who spent more time in meetings than working with actual code in the last 5 years. And also because Will has sent him plenty of texts about his own managers, usually involving a lot of obscenities.

“And you know,” Will tries, “She was super supportive about it. She kept saying, ‘You were captain of your hockey team!’ and ‘You’d be a great team leader!’ Which, I mean, I was grateful for that, but it just felt like we were going around in circles with her telling me I should go for it, and with me having to explain, over and over again why it was a bad idea.”

“I mean, good on her for trying to encourage you,” Derek says placatingly, “But motivating and directing a herd of athletes in a sport that you’re violently passionate about is definitely not the same as making sure your coworkers meet their deadlines.”

“ _Yes_ !” Will exhales in a rush. “Exactly! It’s _not_ the same thing and she couldn’t really get that? And I just...I just didn’t see it as something I actually wanted, you know?”

Derek narrows his eyes, assessing. “Is this the part where I have to ask if you were scared of success? Or if you were making excuses because you were worried you couldn’t handle greater responsibilities?”

Will snorts because, “Honestly, I had to ask myself all that too.”

“And?”

“And the answers didn’t matter because I just flat-out didn’t want the damn job.” Will says emphatically. He looks Derek in the eye, tired but steadfast, “I didn’t want to jump into something that I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about, just because it was the ‘next step.’”

Will says the last bit with such distaste that it almost makes Derek laugh. Almost. Instead, he says gently,

“You know, it kinda sounds like you guys were arguing about something else altogether.”

Will doesn’t deny it. Derek would know he was lying anyway. Instead, he slumps back into the couch, leaning his head back as if he could sink into the cushions and tells the ceiling,

“She said getting the pay raise would mean we could start house-hunting.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek starts, surprised.

“Oh. I didn’t realize that was a thing...for you guys…”

Will sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Neither did I.”

When his girlfriend had insisted that his higher salary would give them the chance _to buy a home of our own_ , William J. Pointdexter had looked her in the eye and said, with his own mouth, _“Why would we do that?”_

Which, as literally any of his friends could’ve told him had they been present, was _not_ the right thing to say. To be fair, he was a little thrown with the change of of topic from his career decisions to property acquisition, but,

“Oof.” Derek hisses like he’d taken a low-blow. “Did you really not see it coming?”

“I mean, she’d talked about wanting to move in together and I was open to that! I wasn’t about to shell out for a penthouse downtown any time soon, but I was thinking it would’ve been nice to have an extra room in the apartment, and maybe be closer to work.” Dex grimaces, “What I _wasn’t_ thinking about was a four-bedroom/three-and-a-half-bath whole-ass _house in the suburbs_ down the street from her brother’s family.”

Derek actually chokes on his drink. Will laughs a little. 

“That,” Derek wipes at his mouth, looking appalled, “Sounds very, very specific Dex.”

“Ayuh. It was one of the houses she wanted me to look at.”

“ ‘One of?’ As in plural?”

“As in one of many.”

“ _How_ many?”

“She had a saved folder on her laptop.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Fuck off.”

Will laughs humorlessly. “It was titled ‘Dream Homes.’”

Derek clutches at his metaphorical pearls, “Nooohoh _noo_ -”

“We actually toured it.” He confesses. “About...a week before Chowder’s wedding?”

(Will had stood in the staged living room, faintly hearing Sara gush about the color scheme of the kitchen’s backsplash. The second story windows provided the space with plenty of light, and the first floor’s square footage was arguably bigger than his entire childhood home. It was built recently, every appliance was brand-spanking new, the yard was more than anything he’d ever had, and Will couldn’t find a single cosmetic flaw as they did the walk through beside the realtor. 

It was, in a word, perfect.)

“And?”

“It was wrong.” He tells Derek. “It was just all...wrong.”

“I take it she didn’t feel the same way.” Derek says after a moment.

“We disagreed on a couple of things.” Will admits. 

“Is that why she didn’t come to C’s wedding?”

Will rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda.”

Derek glares at him. “You gonna keep vague-tweeting bro or actually spell it out for me?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a persistent little shit?”

“Anyone ever tell you that deflection is a weak-ass defensive reaction?”

Will flips him the bird and Derek doesn’t even deign him a reply, waiting patiently. Will groans, more defeated than annoyed.

“We had a fight.” He says. “The day before we were set to fly out for the weekend.”

“The wedding you had already RSVP’d to with a plus-one on?” 

“The wedding for our favorite goalie and best friend? That’s the one.”

Derek whistled. “That must’ve been some fight.”

“She wanted to make an offer on the house. Because the realtor said that the house-”

“The five bed/three bath Dream Home.” Derek recalls helpfully.

Will grins, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “-wasn’t going to stay on the market for long.”

“The house that was, in your own words, ‘all wrong.’”

“That’s the one. Then I made the mistake of telling her that we didn’t have the funds for it.” Will rolls his eyes. “Which, of course, brought up the fucking promotion again.”

Derek just nods. “Ah, the promotion that you didn’t want.”

“Yeah…” Will exhales sharply, “She gave me an ultimatum. She said that, if I was really invested in our relationship, taking the promotion and getting a house together would’ve been easy decisions to make. I told her it wasn’t really fair; that our future didn’t have to hinge on my career trajectory. I mean, she was talking about getting a mortgage together. After barely a year of dating!”

“Meh.” Derek makes a face. “Some relationships move along faster than others, I guess.”

“Well ours didn’t.” Will says flatly. “It felt like we were jumping the gun and I just...I didn’t think we were ready for that.”

Derek picks at the edge of his beer’s label like he’s processing what to say next and how much of a dick he’s allowed to be. Then he asks gently, “Did you think you were ever going to be ready?”

“I’m not sure.” Will huffs. Closes his eyes and quietly confesses, “Probably not.

“So we called it off, and I finished packing-”

Derek snorts. “Weirdo.”

“Listen,” Will hisses at him, “Some people actually pack ahead of time instead of _two hours before their flight._ ”

“Who packs a whole-ass day before a trip?”

“ _Normal_ people who pack more than their skin care products!”

“Oooh. Them’s fighting words from someone who _insisted_ on using those skin products.”

“Pretty sure _you_ were the one who insisted on using them _on_ me.”

“No one with your skin tone comes to California without sunblock!” 

“That’s presumptuous.”

“That’s facts. Melanoma’s a real thing Pointdexter.”

“The point is-” Will can’t stop smiling, shaking his head, “She just grabbed her stuff from her drawer while I kept on packing. By the time I zipped up my suitcase, it was just... _done_.”

“You never said anything,” Derek says, “At the wedding.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to be a Debbie Downer at C’s wedding.”

“Okay one: that phrase basically confirms you’re a middle-aged housewife.” Derek dodges the pillow launched at his face, grinning. “And two: I’m sorry man.”

Will makes a dismissive sound.

“No really, bro. I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been easy to go through and, even though I know you’re a fan of that ‘conceal, don’t feel’ life, I’m sorry you couldn’t feel like you could talk about it with us.”

“I was going to tell you guys. You know, eventually. Just not when we were all having a good time with everyone.”

Derek nods wistfully. “That was a pretty sick party.”

Chris and Cait had rented out the rooftop bar of the San Diego hotel the guests were staying at for the rehearsal dinner. Between his and Jack’s Falcs teammates and the old SMH crew, the party went on for a while even after the bride and groom’s tamer relations called it a night. It was, in Chowder’s flushed-faced words, _Swawesome_ and the subsequent beachside ceremony and reception were so beautiful Will may have shed a tear or two (or a dozen).

“Okay, I’m gonna have to ask you not to judge me right now-” Will says after a moment.

“And I will politely decline.”

“-But does it make me a dick for having had such a good time that weekend? To the point that I couldn’t even be sad enough that I just ended a year-long relationship?” Will makes a face. “That I was just...relieved?”

“Nah, man.” Derek says after a moment. “You wanted different things. It wouldn’t have been fair for either of you to stay in a relationship where you weren’t getting what you needed from each other, especially when neither of you was willing to budge your principles for the other.”

Will winces. “When you say it like that I sound pretty selfish.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish, Will.” Derek says bluntly. “You’re allowed to want things for yourself.”

“Even in a relationship?”

“Especially in a relationship. You can’t lose yourself in another person’s life and wishes. Realistically, if you guys wound up staying together under either circumstance, one of you was bound to start resenting the other.”

“Yeah, but that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Meet each other halfway, work through our problems and all that shit?”

“Meeting each other halfway only makes sense if you’re moving towards a common goal which, for the record, you two were definitely not. Because yeah, it might be a little self-serving but what does it matter if what you want is the same thing your partner wants? The notion that one or both of you should’ve just sucked it up for the sake of staying together, on the other hand-” Derek scoffs. “That’s like the backbone of every unhappy marriage that ever existed.”

Will reaches over to run his bottle over Derek’s ankle, the ice-cold condensation making him grunt with disapproval. He grins.

“D’you ever wonder if that’s why you’re still single?”

“Why? Because I know how to recognize a healthy relationship?”

“Because you’ve got high standards for the emotional maturity in the people you date.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, William.” Derek drawls, drawing himself up haughtily. “But I’m kind of a catch.”

Will coughs to cover a laugh because he can’t quite say, _Yeah I had noticed man. Years ago in fact_.

Instead, he jokes, “Vain much, Nurse?” 

“I’m just saying; I’ve got my shit together-” Derek glares when Will snorts. “Fine, I’ve got it mostly together. Why can’t I expect the same from the person I might wind up spending the rest of my life with?”

“You should.” Will acquiesces. Then asks, “Does that mean that Messiah guy you were seeing didn’t have _his_ shit together?”

“You know damn well his name was Misha-”

“All I knew was that it was a weird fucking name-”

“And _Messiah_ isn’t??” 

“Not as weird as the fact that he legally changed it because of _a fucking show_ -!”

“What’s wrong with that-?”

“Where would you like me to start??”

A launched dumpling later (“ _Nurse that’s going to stain if it lands on the couch_ !”), ESPN got swapped out for Derek’s Roku and they argued over which terrible CW show to watch, barely making it through an episode and a half before deciding they’d rather keep their brain cells. They keep the show running for background noise while they clean up so they can bitch about the legitimacy of having people in their mid-20s playing teenagers in convoluted plot lines that are definitely not legal in _any_ state or reality. They shoot off a picture together to Chris and receive no less than ten messages back of just emojis and key smashing lines that they interpret as _‘I miss you guys. Wish I was there.’_ Derek heads out with the trash to the garbage chute and Will starts getting ready for bed.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten out of that art show, by the way.” Derek says when Will’s brushing his teeth.

Spitting into the sink, Will shoots him a glare in the bathroom mirror.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“We’ve got tickets.” Derek grins, all teeth when Will groans. “There’s a performative sequence.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t. Wipe your mouth William. You’ve got a little something on your face.”

Will flips him off without any heat and Derek looks too pleased with himself. Thumping once against the doorway, he says, “I’m beat. Night man.”

“G’night Nurse.” Will turns before he leaves and says, “And thanks again, for letting me stay here.”

“Already told you it was nothing, Dex.” Derek shakes his head, grinning, “But feel free to remember that gratitude when you get pulled on the stage during the show.”

“That’s a joke, right? Nurse? _Nursey_??”

Will barely pokes his head out of the bathroom in time to see Derek walk into his own room across the hallway, laughing. _What a dick_. Will catches his own grin in the mirror and falters for a second before hurriedly finishing up, feeling stupidly sheepish.

He deliberates cracking open one of his suitcases to change into his pajamas but remembers the old shorts and Bruins shirt he’d left in the closet beforehand. Will hefts the box he’d left on top of the bed, setting it aside and catching sight of one of the items, reaching for it almost instinctively.

Derek’s book was one of the few items that Will designated as ‘essential enough’ to not leave in storage, having packed it at the top of the box to avoid damaging it, lying on a photo album the SMH team had given him for his year as captain, alongside the makeshift notebook of Bitty’s handed-down recipes when he drove up to New York. Will didn’t really _get_ poetry; a lot of the stuff he read came off as pretentious and self-indulgent, but he did make an effort sometimes, especially with Derek’s work. He had allowed Will to go through some of his stuff back in college and, even though Will couldn’t say for certain he knew half of what he was reading, he liked the feeling of it. Liked Derek’s flowy words, the lilt of his voice lulling Will to sleep on the other bed when he was too wired and distraught after a bad away game. Sometimes, he read them in Arabic and it felt like a secret; Will didn’t understand, but he knew it was precious for him to have, for Derek to give him. 

There was one poem in Derek’s collection though that made him pause. 

It spoke of divine soulmates and brethren borne through battle, of respect and loyalty earned and tried, of separation and grief so profound that the earth grieves. It was all yearning and anger and sadness that Will intrinsically knew Derek was capable of, but hadn’t ever seen on paper. Well, that Derek hadn’t allowed him to see. 

Will looked up the title online when he couldn't get it out of his mind. He reads interpretations of multiple translations of a legend that he’s never heard of before, and he thinks of the secrets people take to their graves beyond what’s written on their headstones. It’s tragic and important, Will thinks, even if he doesn’t really understand. 

It’s titled _Enkidu_ and Will tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, even as his finger lingers, smudging the page number at the bottom, _24_.

He sets the book back down and pulls on his butter-soft Bruins shirt, catching a whiff of Derek’s detergent and hating what it does to him. Will just sighs. Of-fucking-course. He lays back on the bed, throws an arm over his eyes and thinks, not for the first or even twelfth time in the past two weeks, _This was such a bad idea._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No house-hunting in this chapter, I'm afraid. Just a pair of dumb boys unknowingly (and rather alarmingly) dumb for each other.

Will doesn’t start looking for a new place right away.

His office had offered to set up housing for him, but Will had preferred to find something on his own. And then work starts up and he gets assigned to a project that pulls in all his available brain power so that, by the time he comes back to Derek’s place, the last thing he wants to do is stare at listings. Derek sips the wine he’d opened earlier, his laptop opened but largely forgotten on the kitchen island. 

“But do you _like_ the job?” He asks. “Or are you rethinking all your life decisions?”

“No ragerts here.” Will drawls, stirring the pasta he’s got cooking on the stove to keep them from sticking. Looking back up at Derek, he says more seriously, “I like it. A lot of it is repetitive, but the team I’m with is pretty great.”

“I thought you said they were, and I quote ‘a bunch of beatnik tech hippies.’”

“You know damn well that was a hyperbole.”

“Oooh look who paid attention in class!”

Will waves the wooden spoon at him threateningly.

“Keep being a dick and you’re gonna be ordering out tonight.”

Derek sniffs indignantly instead of responding because it’s honestly been some time since he bothered cooking anything in his own kitchen and that carbonara smells _so_ damn good. Will, the weirdo, apparently unwinds after work by cooking while Derek has more takeout menus than actual kitchenware. Will’s taken to sending him a grocery list in the morning that Derek would take care of since he usually got back to the apartment before Will did. When Derek offered to actually do the cooking so they could eat once he got home, Will loudly and rather _rudely_ recalled that one time Bitty had asked Derek to watch his caramel on the stove for “just a sec” and came back to find his pot _and_ a piece of Derek’s shirt on fire. 

(“Just say you don’t want me to cook asshole.” Derek snarked.

He tossed a dish towel at his face, only for Will to catch it smugly, swinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease.)

“This is good by the way.” Will gestures to his own wine glass in Derek’s direction.

“At three-hundred a bottle, it better be- hey!” Derek dodges backward when Will chokes, spewing drops of bordeaux everywhere. 

“What the fuck-” He coughs once more, “Are you doing buying _three-hundred dollar wine_??”

“I didn’t! Some client bought a case of it for my dad as a thank you for closing his last deal.” Derek shrugs. “The wine cellar is kind of overflowing right now so my mom just asked me to take a couple of the bottles off their hands.”

After their years together, Will shouldn’t be surprised by the Nurses’ wealth anymore and yet, occasionally, he gets a rude reminder that he and Derek have lived _very_ different lives. 

“I feel like we should be making something classier than pasta.” Will mutters, picking up the bottle in question as if the label will explain its price tag. Maybe there’s like, phoenix blood in it?

“Come on, I made a salad and we’ve got a cheesecake. That’s a three-course meal already.”

“Oh, did you make a salad? Because I think it was more like you nearly lost a finger when all I asked you to do was chop lettuce.”

Derek has the nerve to look petulant, absently rubbing at the bandaid Will had wrapped around his finger an hour ago, even though he’d insisted it wasn’t serious. 

(“You gonna kiss it and make it better too?”

Will dropped his hand, huffing. “Fuck you. I hope you get gangrene.”)

“Vegetables are slippery William.”

Will shakes his head and moves to plate the pasta. 

“I really don’t know how you managed to survive this long without being eaten by a larger animal.”

Derek leers at him. “By being the bigger animal of course.” 

Will rolls his eyes and grabs the plates while Derek follows with their glasses in tow. They take their seats at the small dining table that Derek has admittedly only used whenever his parents come by to make sure he hasn’t been buried under a mound of his own books. 

“How was work by the way?” Will asks, accepting the salad. “Busy day?”

“How’d you guess?” 

Will snorts. “You stopped sending me memes after lunch.”

Derek takes a gulp of his wine, his mouth curling as he swallows and goes _off_. Apparently, editing is hard to do when you don’t have anything to actually edit. Writers, as Will was intimately aware of, could be notoriously difficult to encourage to meet their deadlines, so Derek had used the opportunity to go through submitted manuscripts and was up to his eyeballs in apocalyptic space fiction. By the time he’s recounting the plot of the third manuscript that sounded very familiar to the first two, Will’s laughing and they’ve forgone plates to stab into the cheesecake instead of serving themselves slices like adults. Bitty would’ve been appalled and Derek agrees enthusiastically when Will says it aloud.

“Oh, hey. He and Jack are coming by in a few weeks.” 

“Nice.” Will says, bringing their plates to the kitchen sink. “We should see them if they have time.” 

“Think they’ll be up for an art show?”

Will whips his head over to him so quickly Derek wonders if he’s cracked his spine.

“Fuck no.” Will says emphatically. “And fuck you.”

Derek laughs because he had a _much_ better time at that show than Will did. Will mock-glares at him and turns on the faucet to get started on the dishes, letting the water run for a moment when he feels a prickling awareness on his neck. Turning, he sees Derek leaning against the island countertop, expression thoughtful, assessing. Will knows a flush is creeping along the back of his neck, the same one that makes an appearance every time he realizes someone is checking him out. Which is stupid. Because that’s not what’s happening here. 

Right?

Yeah. Right.

...Right…?

“What?” He belatedly realizes how defensive he sounds, but Derek shrugs instead of answering.

“Nothing. Just-” He comes to stand on the other side of the sink, elbow knocking into Will’s. He’s smiling. “This is just adorably domestic, you know? Cooking, dinner, washing dishes.”

Will side-eyes him even as he feels that flush travel up to his cheeks. The way Derek’s grin widens means that he notices. Will tries to hate him and fails. 

“If you want to live in a dirty hovel, that’s on you.” He grumbles. “But while I’m around, dishes are gonna get cleaned.”

Derek has the nerve to look pleased, rolling the cuffs of his shirt up, baring the tendons along his forearms and that one, viciously defiant vein that runs over his hand that does things to Will’s throat that veins just shouldn’t.fucking. _do_. He forces himself to stare at the bubbles in the sink while Derek smugly says, “I told you we could’ve just used the paper plates and plastic cups.” 

Will actually sputters. “We are not drinking three-hundred dollar wine in SOLO cups!”

Derek cackles as Will scrubs at the plates. “You didn’t even _know_ it was three-hundred dollar wine!”

“That’s-” Will gets started on the utensils, exasperated, “That’s not the point!”

“Oh yeah?” Derek goads even as he rinses, “So what is?”

“So, so-!” Will let out a growl of frustration, “So wipe the damn plates down!”

Derek laughs and Will’s threats to never cook again are soon forgotten once the dishes are put away and they’ve settled into the couch. They’d started watching the Marvel movies in their official chronological order but they usually can’t make it through a single film without at least one of them knocking out so they’re still slowly making their way through the Phase 1 movies. A particularly loud explosion jolts Will up and he belatedly realizes that Derek’s been the first to fall for the night. Will wants to chirp him but...

Derek had moved as he nodded off, his head now resting on Will’s shoulder, the scent of that product Derek uses on his hair literally hitting Will in the face and Will has to mentally restrain the stupid urge to turn his head and bury himself into those curls. It doesn’t help that Will had propped his arm on the back of the couch when they’d settled in so at this point, Derek is basically one semi-not-so-thoughtless move away from being cuddled into Will’s side. 

It’d be so easy, Will thinks, to drop his arm and his guard and just allow himself, just this once, this single stolen moment. But this is Derek, and the low thrum of content that curled around Will’s chest morphs into something uglier because they’re friends for fuck’s sake and he feels vaguely pervy for tainting a moment with feelings that don’t belong here.

With great reluctance, he nudges Derek.

“Nursey, c’mon man. You gotta get to bed.”

“M’good right ‘ere.” Derek slurs. 

“You’re gonna bitch about your neck if you sleep like that.” 

Derek sags against his shoulder almost defiantly. Will grips the back of the couch to avoid moving his hand to Derek’s neck/waist/anywhere to pull him even closer. Blissfully unaware, Derek says,

“Then just lemme bitch about it.”

But Derek has a tendency to get headaches when he doesn’t sleep well so Will half-heartedly pushes back against him with his arm before moving to stand up. Derek, the overgrown infant that he is, actually whines at being dislodged, but allows Will to pull him up and half-shove him in the direction of their rooms. 

“C’mon. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow.” Derek walks into his room and flops onto his bed, grumbling, “Tonight you’re just the asshole that won’t let me sleep with you.”

Will’s face burns even though Derek is half-dead and can’t see. 

“I’m not a fucking Care Bear, Nurse. You can’t just cuddle me when you feel like it.”

Derek throws out a limp thumbs-down and jeers, “Boooo.”

He’s burrowed into his blankets now, his face half buried into his pillow, expression aglow from the bedside lamp. It takes a herculean effort to restrain himself from crawling in beside Derek so Will focuses on the press of his hand against the doorway to ground himself.

“You want the light on?”

Derek makes a noise that Will understands to mean ‘no thank you.’ He raises his head a fraction.

“Could you leave the door kinda open though?”

“Sure. Did you charge your phone?”

“...damn. No.”

Will watches with some amusement as Derek wiggles in bed to pull his phone out of his basketball shorts. “Give it to me.” He holds out his hand, expectant, and Derek complies easily. Will turns the lamp off, then plugs Derek’s cell into the charger that he keeps on the dresser across the room to force himself to get out of bed in the morning. Will is almost out of the room when he hears Derek’s voice, soft and fading, “You’re the best Dex.”

Will’s not sure Derek is even awake anymore but he leaves the door slightly ajar to let the hallway light into the room and murmurs, “Night Nursey.”

_X_

They settle into a pattern. 

Will gets up early a few days of the week to run and, by the time Derek has rolled out of bed, coffee’s been made and Will’s heading out the door. Derek texts him periodic updates on the pigeon that has made a nest in the tree he sits beside at lunch, and Will sends him a picture of whatever vegan concoction his coworker Trish encouraged him to get for lunch that he admits “isn’t always the worst.” Will learns to trust Derek with prepping dinner if not actually using kitchen appliances, though on weekends they hit the gym in Derek’s building together before Derek typically drags him off to god-knows-where because “It’s New York, Dexy. There’s always something happening.”

Today, he’s apparently gotten tickets for some obscure little theater that plays foreign films. Will, as usual, has some concerns.

“I’m just saying.” Will watches Derek push the barbell up, “Why can’t we watch the dubbed version?”

“Because,” Derek says, his voice slightly strained, “There are intricacies and nuances specific to a language and you should allow yourself to be immersed in them as the directors intended.”

“Yeah okay that’s cool but why,” Will insists, hands ready to catch on the bar on its way down, “Do you keep picking movies with subtitles?”

“Just say you can’t read fast Dex.” Derek huffs with a grin. “I won’t judge.”

“I will walk away from you right now, Nurse. See if anyone will judge me then.”

Derek laughs, and Will helps him rack up the weights before it falls on his chest, which is a mistake of course. Because then now he’s just hovering over Derek’s stupid, laughing, beautifully sweaty face and he’s simultaneously grateful and annoyed with the barbell between them for keeping him from doing something stupid like…

He shakes the beginnings of a bad idea out of his mind as Derek rises from the bench and offers,

“I’ll buy you a box of bunch-a-crunch for your popcorn.” 

“Please.” Will makes a dismissive noise. “You will buy me the box _and_ the popcorn.” 

They grab dinner from a taco truck that Derek swears by and finish them off on the way to the theater. The movie isn’t awful. He’d like to say it was boring at least, but Will found himself surprisingly engaged throughout the whole thing, and Derek is unsurprisingly smug about it when they get out of the theater and start heading to a coffee bar that Derek frequents when he can’t sleep late at night. 

“You gotta learn to trust me about these things Dexy.”

“I trusted you with that art show and wound up with paint in places paint don’t belong in.”

“Aww but you looked so good when they were done with you.” Derek cooed. “I still stand by my theory that your follower count would skyrocket if you’d let me share that picture on the ‘gram.”

“And I will block you across every social media platform so the only way you’ll be able to communicate with me is through carrier pigeons.”

Derek actually looks affronted. “You wouldn’t da-”

“Derek?”

Will stops walking when Derek does, both of them turning around at the same time. Behind them is a tall man with floppy blond hair and Will is vaguely reminded of Holster if Holster wore jeans skinnier than Will was when he was 12 and an honest-to- _God_ ascot. 

“Oh.” Derek says, his tone odd. “Jeremy.”

“So you _do_ go out at night.” It’s probably supposed to be a joke with the way ‘Jeremy’ tacks on a chuckle at the end. He then proceeds to give Derek an appreciative once-over, lingering over the gold pendant that hangs almost as low as the neckline of his shirt. Will had enjoyed it earlier when Derek had walked out of his bedroom in it but now it makes him chew on the inside of his cheek. “I was starting to think you only left home to go to the office.”

Will, who’s been to about a dozen different pop-up restaurants, galleries, and exhibits since he officially moved into the city because of Derek, can’t help but laugh. Jeremy turns to him in surprise, as if he didn’t realize Will was part of their conversation. Derek, who has better manners than off-ice coordination, remembers to be cordial so he waves a hand between them. 

“Uh, Jeremy, this is my friend Will.” He says as the other two exchange handshakes. “Will, this is Jeremy. We work together.”

“Nice to meet you.” Will says. “You an editor too?”

“Nah. I’m just another marketing drone.” Jeremy glances between them and settles on asking Will, “So how’d you manage to make Derek to get out of his apartment?”

“It’s the other way around, actually. He wouldn’t shut up about this one film so, obviously, we _had_ to go see it.”

Derek makes a dismissive noise and points a finger at him accusingly. 

“You swear like I didn’t see you wiping at your face at the end there.”

“Them’s big words for someone who was sobbing so hard I could barely hear them talking.”

“They were speaking Korean!”

“Bro!” Will groans. “I already told you I’m not a fan of subtitles.” 

“And I’m surprised you could see them through your waterfall of tears.” Derek cackles and he looks so delighted that Will already feels the beginnings of a smile pulling at his mouth.

A throat clears. “So you guys came from a movie.”

Oh. Hey. Jeremy’s still there.

“Yeah.” Derek tells him. He knocks shoulders with Will, teasing, “I’m trying to broaden Dex’s horizons.”

Will waves air-quotes and tells Jeremy, “I’m apparently an ‘uncultured swine.’”

Derek chortles but doesn’t correct him. Jeremy frowns. 

“‘Dex?’I thought your name was Will?” 

“It’s a Hockey Thing.” They ‘explain’ at the same time. 

Jeremy turns an assessing gaze over Will like he was actually seeing him for the first time and Will resists the urge to puff his chest out just for the hell of it.

“So you played hockey at Samwell too?”

“Nursey and I were linemates actually.” Will shares an indulgent smile with Derek. “D-men for life.”

“You know that’s right.” Derek agrees readily. He swings an arm around Will’s neck and tells Jeremy, “Dex here was actually our captain. Led us to our _second_ consecutive national title in our senior year.”

The amount of pride in his voice would normally be embarrassing, but Derek’s hand is warm where it’s settled on Will’s shoulder and it almost feels like Derek’s…showing him off? And Will usually hates having any sort of attention on him, he can actually feel his face start to get a little too warm for comfort, but this is actually kind of…nice? In this context, at least, where Derek’s pressed close to him and his cologne is doing heady things to Will’s brain and if he turns his face just a tiny bit to one side he could brush his lips against Derek’s stubble and-

“Ooh.” Jeremy’s expression shifts, nodding like he’s just realized something. “You were his _partner_.”

“Still am for the occasional game of shinny.” Will corrects, not sure if he likes this guy’s tone. “You play?”

“Nah. I was the goaltender for my lacrosse team in high school though.”

He barely suppresses a snort and Nursey coughs to cover his own. Of course he did. Jeremy doesn’t seem to notice. 

“So you must be his new roommate.”

“For now. Nursey’s been letting me crash at his apartment ‘til I find my own.”

“Yeah, yeah. He told us.” Jeremy smiles a little too widely. “Y’know he took a whole day off work to get his place ready and everything.”

Will snorts, “Yeah right.” Because Derek’s idea of preparing his place for guests is turning on the roomba his parents got him as a house-warming present (their first offer was a biweekly maid service that he quickly turned down). 

He turns to Derek for confirmation, which is a mistake of course. Because 1) Derek’s face is still so, _so_ stupidly close and 2) he can see the way Derek’s mouth tightens and how he’s very deliberately avoiding looking back at Will and now that he thinks about it…

Will’s come by to New York before, has stayed with Derek before for brief periods and weekends. And it was always comfortable but they’d never really spent that much time together actually _in_ his apartment. Now though, Will thinks back to the first night he drove into the city, at how he was a little surprised that Derek’s spare room had been cleared out of the knick-knacks he’d acquired from his travels and how he actually had space in the closet to put some of his stuff away. He remembers being borderline euphoric that there was a brand-new, unopened pack of Sam Adams in the fridge chilling, even though Derek prefers wine when they have dinner. Will thinks of the spare key Derek’d given him, the one that he’d presented with a flourish on a sparkling keychain that looked like he’d gotten it from Claire’s just because he knew it’d annoy Will and yeah, okay Derek’s books were tucked into their shelves as much as they could be without acting as makeshift coffee tables or ottomans like he’d had on Will’s previous visits, but that was just courtesy. He was just trying to make Will comfortable, right?

Right. 

...Right?

“Aw Nursey,” He tries to make it sound like a chirp but knows he’s probably failing. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

“Ungrateful much?” Derek accuses, but he’s smiling. “See if I decide to keep being such a magnanimous friend.”

“And so humble too! How _do_ you do it?”

“I’m a man of many talents, Dexy.”

“Except getting up when your alarm goes off for the first time. Or boiling water.” Will ticks off his fingers. “Or cutting vegetables-”

“Fuck you.” Derek shoves him away, laughing, but Will pulls him back because Derek nearly walked backwards onto a passerby. Clumsy ass. 

“Wow.” 

They both turn to Jeremy simultaneously, apparently having forgotten that he was still there. His eyes are settled into the scant space between them and Will has the weirdest sensation of being exposed, like he can see what Will’s been hiding. He drops his hold on Derek abruptly but the way Jeremy smiles, slow and wry, makes him think he wasn’t quick or slick enough. 

“You guys are something else.” He doesn’t elaborate beyond that. Instead, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his distressed denim jacket and oh-so-casually announces, “I’m actually about to meet up with some friends at this bar down the block. Do you wanna join us?”

The question is supposed to be for both of them but it’s clearly aimed at Derek. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind where his self-preservation takes a nap on anything Derek-related, Will’s aware that no matter what comes out of Derek’s mouth next, he’s going to follow him wherever he wants to go. 

It’s a little stupid, how gone he is. 

“We’re actually heading somewhere too.” Derek says almost apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

“Sure.” Jeremy glances between the short space between Derek and Will. “Next time.” 

He doesn’t sound like he believes it. 

_X_

The following day, they walk through the Farmer’s Market and then Derek guides them to a bookstore a couple of streets away where the old man behind the counter greets him by name.

“I used to spend hours here in middle school.” He tells Will as they weave through the tight spaces between the bookshelves. There are stacks of books that couldn’t fit into the shelves pushed to the ends of the aisles. Will imagines a punier Derek (maybe the one from the family portrait that sits on the mantle in the Nurse penthouse) sprawled on them, legs crossed, nose buried in a tome that Will probably has never even heard of. The image does something to his chest that he doesn’t have a word for. 

“I don’t think I went into a bookstore for anything other than what was on my required reading list.”

“Then it’s a good thing we went to Samwell.” Derek stoops to lean the flowers he’d gotten at the market against one of the cases before pulling a paperback out from one of the shelves. “We probably wouldn’t have met otherwise.”

Will tries to imagine a Derek-less college life and almost laughs at the absurdity of it.

“I don’t know about that Nurse.” He muses. “I’m sure you would’ve found some way to accidentally drop food on me.”

Derek winks at him. “Sweet of you to think it would’ve been accidental.”

Wil snorts. He eyes the titles on the shelves, tilting his head slightly to read the names on the spines.

“Do they carry your collection?”

“Not anymore, I don’t think. I signed a bunch for Arlo over there but he said they were gone in a week.”

Will knocks their shoulders together, teasing. “Popular fucker ain’tcha?” 

“I said it last night, didn’t I?” Derek smirks, smug. “I’m a talented guy.”

“Jeremy seemed to think so too.” Will can’t help but say, turning to gauge his reaction.

Derek hums distractedly though, slipping the book back into the shelf and reaching for another one without saying anything. Will runs his hands over the titles on the shelves that range from historical romance to graphic novels and comics. Arlo apparently didn’t believe in sorting by genre.

“Did you date him or something?” 

Will takes a teensy amount of pleasure from watching Nursey startle, looking up from the book in his hands with wide eyes. 

“What?” He scoffs. 

Will shrugs like it’s no biggie. “Did you date him?” He repeats, then clarifies, “Jeremy.” 

Derek just stares at him.

“N-no!” He sputters after a beat, flustered. “Jesus. Why would you even ask that.” 

Will gives him a look. “You mean aside from the fact that he was radiating ‘rejected’ vibes?”

Derek scoffs, mouth opening and closing but not denying it, perplexed. 

“We’re just coworkers.” He grits out after a moment.

Will nods because he figured as much. 

“He’s into you, by the way.” He tells Derek conspiratorially. “In case you _were_ interested.”

“What are you even talking about? You met him for like five minutes.”

“And he spent like four of those just checking you out.” _And the last one sizing me up._ He doesn’t add.

“We were having a conversation.” Derek says evenly.

“ _You and I_ were having a conversation.” Will corrects him. “ _He_ was eyeing your cleavage like he was ready to dive in.”

Derek brings a hand to his chest, even though he’s wearing a short-sleeved button up today that is doing wonders for his biceps.

“I do _not_ have cleavage.” He protests. Will grins.

“No explanation for him checking you out though huh?”

“I’m a hot guy, Dex.” Derek drawls with bravado as false as his chill. “Can’t blame people for looking.”

Considering that Will has, in fact, been one of those people looking for longer than he’d ever admit, he can’t really fault anyone else doing it. Doesn’t change the fact that it annoys him though. Not that Derek, like, _belongs_ to him or whatever. But…still…

“So you’re _not_ into Hipster Holster?”

Will’s aware that it’s a pathetic ploy for reassurance that Derek is, in fact, not into the weird, skinny version of Adam Birkholster. Derek could easily call him out of it. Instead, he barks out a laugh. 

“So you saw it too!”

“I mean, if he put on like 40 pounds of muscles, about eight vertical inches, and became almost legally blind overnight, he’d be a dead ringer.” Will smiles when Derek laughs a little louder. 

“It’d be a good look on him.” He admits. Will shoots him a look at that and he rolls his eyes. “Hey man, just because I can acknowledge someone’s attractive doesn’t mean that I, personally, am attracted _to_ them.”

“Alright.” Will agrees because he gets it; he’s met plenty of guys at Samwell and Boston that were objectively good-looking that didn’t do anything for him. They could end the issue there but he has to ask, “So what _is_ your type though?” 

Derek looks up at him like he did when they were froshies, like he’s exhausted by how much Will just doesn’t _get_. Wordlessly, he thumps the book against his thigh and leans against the shelf. Without thinking, Will moves to mirror him. 

“Come on Dex.” Derek chides. “You ought to know by now.”

If Will was a little more fanciful, maybe he would’ve read into the gravity of them standing together somewhere between romance and fantasy. Maybe write a short essay on metaphorical symbolism or some shit. But Derek’s the poet and Will’s too pragmatic for his own good anyway so he reaches between them and takes the book out of Derek’s hand. 

Persuasion. Austen. 

“You don’t have this one.” 

Derek looks surprised that Will would know that. “No. But I’ve read it before.”

“Did you like it?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, Will looks up and kind of regrets it when he feels his neck prickling and warming from the way Derek is watching him. To distract himself, he runs a hand along the hardcover, checking to see if the spine was intact. He thumbs through the pages to make sure there wasn’t any serious damage to the text.

“Yeah.” Derek says finally, quietly. “It’s okay.”

“Do you want it?” 

Will stops flipping close to the end of the book, when he’s assured that it’s in good condition. He catches a snippet of the page he ends up on, 

_You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever._

He instinctively knows that his whole neck and face are flushed to hell when they’re checking out, so he just avoids looking at Derek directly. The man at the counter, Arlo, smiles as he takes Will’s card to process the payment and Derek says, a touch too fond,

“I thought you said I have enough books.” 

He braves a glance when he trades the book for the flowers Derek’s carrying. The smile on Derek’s face (soft, happy) is a sucker punch he’d take any day of the week. Will holds the door open for him, rationalizing more for himself than anyone else,

“Then one more isn’t going to make a difference.”

Will finds Persuasion in the shelves later that evening, nestled between the upcycled journal that he got Derek for his birthday last year, and the copy of Bushcraft 101 that Will gave him as a gag gift during their senior year at Samwell. It’s not a big deal. Not really. 

But something stupid and warm blossoms in Will’s chest anyway because, in his admittedly-excessive collection, Derek’s made room for his gifts like he's made room for Will in his home. So even if it's not a big deal, it still feels too precious enough to hold on to. To keep close.

Or at least that's what Will tells himself when takes his place beside Derek in the kitchen to get dinner ready. They argue over the right way to cut the potatoes and how long to cook the couscous and the Falcs' chances in the upcoming season with one of Derek's playlists in the background, broad shoulders pressed together closer than necessary, neither thinking to pull away just yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think there's a fine line between lovingly-domestic-best-buds and achingly-deliberately-repressed-romance. And boy, do I love to hop-scotch _all_ over it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm new here and am mildly (belatedly) obsessed with these boys. Thanks for having me.


End file.
